


Peony (anger)

by S_Horne



Series: August in Bloom [28]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Steve Rogers, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Horne/pseuds/S_Horne
Summary: “You’re an idiot.”Probably not the best thing for Steve to have said, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer.Tony blinked up at him, lips cracked and cheeks pale.“That’s me.” Tony’s voice was husky with disuse, cracking on each short word and virtually unrecognisable.It should have made Steve feel sorry for him, should have evoked sympathy for Tony’s clear pain. It probably should have made relief flow through Steve at his husband finally being awake and talking to him.But it didn’t.





	Peony (anger)

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't think too badly of Steve in this fic. It's scary when the one you love is in hospital, and sometimes those feelings come out in different ways.

The medical centre was never dark. There was always a light on somewhere and Steve hated it. There weren’t enough windows for him to be able to work out what time it was naturally and the artificial lights gave him a headache. He hadn’t even thought it was possible for him to have a headache, but that’s where he was.

He hadn’t seen the outside of the medical centre for days. Maybe even a week. He’d stopped counting when they’d made it to three days and Tony hadn’t woken up. Bucky had been in with clean clothes and Steve had managed to have washes in the sinks of the bathroom. It wasn’t ideal, but there was no way on any earth that Steve was taking a single step towards the exit without his husband’s hand in his.

Though the coffee in the cafeteria was vile, Steve had lived on virtually it alone for days. He stared down at the takeaway cup in his hands, missing the warmth that it had provided as it cooled rapidly, making it even more undrinkable than it had been before. It was some time past midnight, or so the shopping channels told him.

Tony couldn’t sleep without some sort of noise in the background and, though Steve despised having anything other than silence in the room, he had gotten far too used to falling asleep with the television on or a radio station talking at him. Although, Steve reminded himself bitterly, it wasn’t as if Tony needed it to be playing as he slept away peacefully, his face not twitching in his sleep for once. There was nothing stopping Steve from grabbing the remote and turning off the annoying-cheerful people laughing on his screen.

Nothing except knowing that Tony would hate it.

With a loud growl, Steve threw his cold coffee into the trashcan by the door and headed for the small garden at the back of the medical centre. He barely paid attention to his surroundings as he thrust his shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

The first one didn’t want to light, but once it did it settled Steve’s nerves with the first drag. The second one stopped his hands from shaking. The third one was lit and smoked with muscle memory alone, calming the pounding behind his eyes, and Steve stopped giving himself a reason by the fourth. It was only when he reached out and his fingers closed around nothing that he realised the brand new packet was empty.

//

Steve had rehearsed his first words in his head for days. The rare moments of sleep that he’d managed to catch had given him dreams with ample variants of Tony’s awakening.

There would be kisses, tears, desperate hugs where Steve would let out a shaky breath saying how much he’d missed Tony and Tony would give him an equally trembling promise of never doing it again.

They’d done it a hundred times each. Sometimes it was Steve in the hospital bed. Sometimes they were only out for a matter of hours. There were jokes on some occasions, a witty or sarcastic comment to bring a smile to the other’s face immediately upon waking.

“You’re an idiot.”

Probably not the best thing for Steve to have said, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Tony blinked up at him, lips cracked and cheeks pale.

“That’s me.” Tony’s voice was husky with disuse, cracking on each short word and virtually unrecognisable.

It should have made Steve feel sorry for him, should have evoked sympathy for Tony’s clear pain. It probably should have made relief flow through Steve at his husband finally being awake and talking to him.

But it didn’t.

Steve had spent a week at Tony’s bedside watching nurses and doctors change tubes and fill out charts. He’d learnt more about the human body’s inside workings than he had as a child in and out of hospital and even growing up with a nurse for a mother. Steve had spent hours begging Tony to wake up and come back to him. He’d cried for days on end, had prayed to any God he had ever heard of for his husband just to open his eyes.

With each new dawn, Steve had lost a little bit of hope. And then the anger had come. Being angry with Tony wasn’t a new feeling for Steve. It was a common occurrence, but he normally had the source of his anger awake and around to dispel the feelings enough to talk the whole thing through.

Without Tony there to talk to, Steve had no outlet. His anger only strengthened with each passing hour.

Every replay of the battle sparked the emotion a little more, each repeat of Tony’s actions stoke the flames higher and higher.

“I mean it,” Steve said, tone harsh and hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re a complete asshole.”

Tony blinked again, once, twice. When his tongue poked out to wet his dry mouth, a spot of blood pooling right in the middle of his bottom lip as Tony reopened a wound, Steve wanted to punch something. “I know.”

“You don’t,” Steve snapped. “You have no idea. Do you even know what you did?”

Silence. Steve hated silence. He’d had nothing but fucking silence for days. He wanted yelling, wanted laughter, wanted something that wasn’t more fucking _silence. _

“You’d have done the same thing,” Tony said finally. It was clear from the way that he set his shoulders and kept his voice steady that he remembered. It made Steve want to cry, if anything. “You know you would.” 

Steve let out an angry breath, words dying in his mouth. Of course he would – but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t want rationality, he wanted an argument. 

“But I didn’t, did I?” Steve said instead, words spat out. “It wasn’t me that threw himself in front of a fucking bomb and–”

“And saved fuck knows how many citizens,” Tony interrupted angrily. “You can’t actually be mad at me for that.”

“Oh, I fucking can.” It was rare for Steve to swear at Tony. It wasn’t for any particularly romantic reason; it just wasn’t something that he did often. Until his emotions got to a stage that he couldn’t control, then he started.

They had screaming matches sometimes. Arguments where they’d hurl insults at the other and yell until their throats were hoarse. That’s when the swearing would come, when Steve’s control would slip and when Tony knew how to coax out what he wanted. Because that was just what Tony did. He saw when Steve needed a release, saw when Steve needed to scream and yell and cry. They never meant the things they said to each other, never actually intended for the words to be taken to heart.

They knew what the other needed, inside and out, and they knew exactly how to achieve it.

It was fear, more than anything. Steve couldn’t handle being scared, couldn’t handle that thought of not being in control or not knowing what was happening. It was easier to get mad, to shout and let his voice turn to steel instead of wobbling with panic.

“You have no idea how stupid that was, Tony. There was–”

“No other way,” Tony answered for him, a bite to his words. “There wasn’t, Steve. You know that, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Of course Steve didn’t want to admit it. He could feel his blood boiling as it coursed through his veins, taking with it searing-hot anger. He was surprised that his skin wasn’t a bright red or that it didn’t hurt to touch. 

What he hated even more than that was the pride that accompanied it. That was the hardest emotion to deal with. The fact that Steve felt so much overpowering pride and unadulterated love towards his husband, the man who had willingly sacrificed himself with barely a moment’s thought to save the lives of others.

That was the man that Steve loved, even when he wanted to scream at him.

“There’s always another way,” Steve said instead, glaring at the wall above Tony’s head. It was what Steve needed. He was nearly there, nearly had it all out.

“No, there’s not,” Tony disagreed and Steve’s pulse picked up again, “and if it were anyone else sitting here, then – fuck!”

“Tony!” Steve shot up when Tony collapsed onto his side with his face screwed up in pain, hands clutching his stomach just above his left hip. “Hey, hey, baby, I’ve got you. Sit up, come on.”

Steve leant over the side of the bed as he cradled Tony’s body carefully in his hands. There was blood seeping through the bandages on Tony’s side; Steve could see that through the hospital gown they’d put Tony in. That was no doubt where the most pain was coming from, though Steve didn’t expect that the dark bruises on his face and the cuts down his arms were adding to Tony’s comfort.

“I’ll call the nurse, alright? Let me just–,” Steve quickly reached for the button at the side of the bed, pressing it frantically to alert someone at the Nurses desk that they needed help. “I’ve got you.”

“Steve,” Tony gasped out, one hand darting to curl into Steve’s thick jacket. “Steve, don’t leave me. I’m sorry, ouch, _shit, _please. Fuck, this hurts.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Steve closed his eyes as he held Tony gently, wishing to God that there was something he could do. All of his anger had left him as soon as Tony’s face had crumpled into pain. It wasn’t worth it. There was no argument worth it. The thought alone of shouting at Tony any more hurt Steve as much as the open wound on Tony’s body was hurting him. “I’m here. We’re okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

Tony’s hand spasmed around Steve’s shoulder and his other arm gave way, body collapsing further into Steve’s embrace.

“Holy shit,” Tony said, words breathless but dripping with agony. “I can’t do this, Steve. I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.”

“Shush, Tony, no.” Carding his hand through Tony’s hair, Steve held Tony’s face against his neck. He never wanted to see Tony in pain ever again, but it wasn’t the time or the place to bring it up. That was the price one paid when they had a moral compass as large and as honourable as Tony. Sometimes, they got hurt. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one that should be sorry. You did the right thing, sweetheart. You know you did – and I’m so proud of you.”

Finally, the door flew opened and a nurse bustled in. They must have made a sight, with Tony bent at a hideously awkward angle and moaning in pain, Steve twisted around him, and blood on the sheets below them.

“Oh, Tony,” she said as she approached the bed quickly, “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

There was half of a broken laugh, though Steve couldn’t have said if it came from himself or Tony.

“I tried,” Tony said on a moan, turning his head from Steve’s neck to look up at his nurse with a pained and weak smile. “I really – fuck – did.”

“I know, love. Come on.” As she got closer to the bed, she stretched out her hands. “Let’s get you back into bed, huh? We’ll lie you down and, oh, Tony.” She stopped short as she saw the mass of blood spreading across Tony’s side. Turning her gaze towards Steve, she furrowed her brow disapprovingly. “I thought I told you no strenuous activity?”

“My fault, Dee,” Tony muttered, his hand shaking on the bed and leg kicking out suddenly. “I just couldn’t resist him. Could you?”

The nurse let out a small laugh and her face softened into a warm smile. “You’ll be the death of me, you pair.”

Steve mustered up a matching smile even as he held Tony that little tighter, hand not stopping its soothing circles for a moment. He could feel his own arms start to tremble, but he tried to hold back as much as he could.

“Captain, I’m going to need you to lean back. Just for a moment,” she tacked on when Tony groaned and pressed himself further into Steve. “Just to get Tony lying down, and then he’ll be all yours.”

“Good,” Steve said, his voice shaky. He hated it. Hated hospitals, hated nurses, hated seeing his husband in pain. He didn’t want to be there anymore; he wanted to be at home, in their own bed, with no bandages that needed changing and no visitor hours to adhere to. Why should he be told how much time he could spend with the man he loved? Whether Tony was awake or not, Steve had wanted to be there with him. “That’s how I like it.”

Tony pulled away enough to shoot him a weak smile. “Yeah? Even when I act the hero?”

“Even then,” Steve answered, loving the feeling of Tony’s pulse thrumming beneath his hand. There was still an anger dancing through him, simmering just below the surface and not quite ready to cool down to nothing, but it could be pushed down for a little longer. “That’s an everyday thing with you, unfortunately. And I love it.”

There was the smile that Steve loved so much. It was twinged with pain, that much was obvious, but it was wide and bright and it was _Tony_. After so many days of watching a still and lifeless Tony and trying to battle his own head telling him that he would never see that smile again, Steve could have cried with happiness.

Nothing else mattered when he had Tony in his arms. There would be more battles, Steve knew that. The fights were never-ending and they would always end up in more, would always end up with one of them in a hospital bed or with some form of injury. It was a tough life and Steve wasn’t sure how much he could cope with anymore, but Tony made it a little easier.

When Tony was at home and safe, when they were wrapped up in their stupidly thick comforter and drinking out of their embarrassing matching mugs, they could restart the argument. Of course they would – it would never be put to rest – but it could wait.

Steve would hit the gym and punch as much of his anger out on reinforced punch bags or rope Bucky into a sparring match, and he’d probably smoke his way through another pack or two. Tony would take months to recover and then there would be another tense week or two where they had to decide when he was mentally able to rejoin the Avengers as an active member. The transition from hospital to home had never been an easy one and Steve was dreading it already. There would be bitten words and Tony would probably push Steve out to sleep on the couch if he got really mad.

But all of that was for another day. Right now, having Tony’s heavy pulse against his palm and his warm body cradled to Steve’s, it was enough. They’d always be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I can only apologise for the lateness of this fic. Please see my [tumblr for my reasoning](https://s-horne.tumblr.com/post/187414441184/this-is-my-massive-apology-ive-been-on-holiday), if you were waiting for this to be posted. I'm really sorry, but I hope you enjoy!


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